There were on Kroh one billion souls,
plus twenty-four who had
the ways and tongues of men.
Each century the number of these
'Mentians' dropped,
and it was clear that if their number
dropped again,
the Krohtians who in little ways
resembled men, would disappear.

The billion population
looked substantially alike, were plump
and covered with a yellow fluff.
In short, they were the stuff
that teddy bears are made of
and that no one
(even should they growl and huff)'s
afraid of.

The Krohtians were a simple, trusting lot,
ate manna every morning,
washed it down with dew,
and had no need for shirt or smock
or sock or shoe.
They did like sunning on a smoothish rock,
looking at the miracle
of sunlight on the sand,
and wondering about that bearded, tall,
two-legged guy who way back when
- could it have been 3000 years ago? -
arrived on Kroh.

The tall one, so it seems,
had come with friends
who were so taken with the charms
of Kroh's soft, fuzzy, female population,
they couldn't wait to plant their seed.
While this went on, the bearded stranger,
who appeared to lack that need
(preferring, for himself, self-flagellation),
performed some magic tricks
and lectured long and well.
Though what he talked about
no one could tell. They simply
couldn't understand his tongue,
not even words like 'God' and 'Son’.

And then one day the stranger died.
At the time, some Krohtians half suspected
he'd been crucified and resurrected.
But, whatever had occurred,
they all now did agree
that since the stranger came to call
Kroh hadn't been the same at all.


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